God Laughs
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.


**God Laughs**  
K Hanna Korossy

Mail was an infrequent event in their life, and usually didn't bring good news except for credit cards and occasional supply orders. Dean had always thought of the mail drops they had scattered around the country as necessary evils, stops that had to be made whenever possible, just like visits to the local laundromat or random dentists.

At least Sam hadn't thought of that latter one yet. Dean planned to take advantage of that memory gap as long as possible.

With Sam there, though, at least his little brother could do the honors. Dean sent him in with the P.O. box combination, while he went to take care of more important business. Namely, introducing himself to the curvaceous vision he'd caught sight of in the ice cream parlor just across the street.

It was some time later when Dean slid into the car and pushed a vanilla-fudge ripple cone into Sam's hand. "On the house," he smirked.

Sam just rested the fist, now laden with melting ice cream, on his thigh and kept reading the letter he was holding.

Dean raised an eyebrow over his own scoop of dark chocolate raspberry. "Bad news?"

"No, I…not really," Sam said distractedly, then shook his head with a small, bitter smile and folded the paper up again.

Dean just caught the flash of a school logo he knew too well. He frowned, glancing at Sam, who was staring unseeingly through the side window. No more seemed forthcoming, so Dean reached over and tugged the paper from his loose grasp. Sam made no attempt to stop him as Dean unfurled it in his own lap, absently licking drips of ice cream as he started reading.

"'_Dear Mr. Winchester: We regret to inform you that due to your continued leave of absence, your scholarship has been suspended. In accordance with regulation—'" _

Dean stopped and glanced up. "Sam…I'm sorry."

"Why?" Sam snorted, long body fidgeting in the seat like he didn't fit right. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Dean flinched a little at that but, okay, it wasn't wholly undeserved. "No," he said simply, shaking his head.

Sam turned to him, eyes shining with apology and fresh grief. "I never meant to leave you two, Dean, I just wanted…"

"Normal."

"_Safe." _

It was Dean's turn to shift in his seat. "You can still do it. I mean, you only had a year left—"

"—plus law school," Sam added.

"Okay, so, what, another year?"

"Two."

Three more years without Sam. And then, it wasn't like you could practice law on the road, either. Dean faltered, daunted by the thought. But he was dismayed even more by the sag of Sam's shoulders, the aimless way he picked at his fraying jeans. The kid was a genius; he didn't belong here, no matter how very much Dean wanted him. He cleared his throat, the ice cream suddenly churning in his stomach. "Sam, we can get this back for you," he said, mostly earnestly, trying not to think further than Sam's happiness. "If you want it, we'll figure out something."

Sam's head lifted in surprise, eyes scanning Dean's face. Then unexpectedly clearing. "I'm not leaving, man, all right? Not until we find Dad, and the thing that killed Jess."

That quest had been going on for twenty-two years now. Dean wondered if Sam was fooling himself, thinking it would end anytime soon and let him just return to his previous life. But if it meant him staying for now, and hanging on to a little bit of hope, Dean couldn't argue with that. He swallowed, nodded. "Okay." Then canted his head. "You know I'm looking out for you, right?"

He could just see Sam's smile as his brother turned away. "Yeah. I know."

"I should probably also point out then that you've got ice cream melting all over your lap."

Sam started, bringing up his hand to stare at it as if it weren't his own. "Wha—?"

Dean just grinned at him and attacked his own cone with renewed fervor.

He threw the letter away a year later, along with the list of school contacts Jim had given him, and didn't bring it up to Sam again.

00000

There were times in that last year, he'd missed his dad so much, he'd had to fight off tears.

And sometimes he had no idea why he'd been so anxious to have John Winchester back in his life.

"You two stay put," the eldest Winchester said, planting a palm on the open edge of Dean's car window. "I'll get us a room."

Dean nodded, and Dad straightened and headed for the motel office. Sam watched his sure stride, remembering how many times as a kid that confidence had brought him reassurance and comfort. Realizing suddenly where Dean had learned it from.

And then processing what their dad had just said. Sam groaned. "_A _room?"

Dean's mouth pulled up. "Flip you for the other bed."

Sam gave him a sour look. "He _does _realize we don't fit on rollaways anymore, right?"

"'Course he does. Whether he cares or not…"

Sam sighed. "So, what, we just go back to the way things were? Sharing rooms, Dad ordering us around like we were kids?"

Dean's mouth flattened. "Enough, Sam, okay? Make up your mind—either you want him back or not. He's not gonna change, so take it or leave it."

"Other dads let their kids grow up."

"_Other _dads didn't lose their wife to a demon and have to worry about protecting their kids."

"You'll defend him no matter what I say, won't you," Sam said irately.

"And you're gonna have a problem with him no matter what he does, so, yeah, Sam, I am."

Sam stewed in silence.

Their dad came out and tossed a key to Dean, who moved the car halfway across the parking lot to their room. Dean glanced his way as they parked, but Sam just stared straight ahead, jaw bunched with tension. He could feel his brother's shrug, then Dean slid out and got their bags from the rear, tossing Sam his as he finally also climbed out.

Their dad was already setting up his stuff on the one table in the room. Sam ignored him and headed to the far bed—_his _bed—and dumped his stuff on it. Dean hung back in the doorway, looking less sure where to go.

Dad took care of that. "You grab the other one, Dean." He nodded at the bed nearer the door. "I'm gonna stay up, monitor the police bands. Something's gonna break soon." And he smiled quietly at Dean, who smiled back.

Sam suddenly, unhappily, felt the old, familiar squirm in his gut of being the outsider again.

Dean and their dad had always had their own language. Smiles and nods and significant glances: it was the one dialect Sam had never made any headway in translating. Maybe he'd never even tried that hard, too angry and resentful that they didn't bother trying to read _him_ better. But now…

He saw the slope of John Winchester's broad shoulders lift at the sign of support from his eldest.

Witnessed Dean's own back straighten and his eyes clear.

Caught John's small glances his way as he made sure Sam settled all right.

Watched as Dean fell asleep almost as soon as he hit the pillow, relaxed and letting down his guard as Sam had rarely seen him.

Thought about living a life of looking over your shoulder, of always having others to be responsible for.

"Good-night, Dad," he said quietly over the background buzz of the police scanner.

Felt John's head come up in surprise. "Good-night, Sam."

And thought maybe he understood Dean's longing a little more. Maybe they could pull this off, the Winchesters hunting together again.

Three weeks later, Sam put John's truck up on craigslist and used the money to buy some obscure parts for the Impala. Dean didn't ask about it, and Sam never offered.

00000

He kinda thought it would be easier, once Sam knew.

It had been a hell of a secret to carry around, literally—_thanks again, Dad_—and he'd spent the last five months wanting to share it with his brother.

But, because they never did things the easy way, telling Sam had only made it worse.

"You wanna stop for the night?" Dean asked, throwing yet another glance at his silent passenger.

They were on an unlit road, and Sam's face was hidden in shadows, but Dean could still see the taut mouth, the narrowed eyes. Hear the clipped tone in the "Whatever" he got in response.

Dean grimaced and started looking for lodging signs.

It wasn't a secret anymore, the burden shared. But Sam's loads to bear had always been Dean's own, his little brother's pain felt even more keenly than his own. So, in a way, he'd just increased the weight he carried while inflicting it on Sam, too.

Or…something. He was really too tired to think much beyond how utterly screwed up everything had become.

A small motel appeared down the road, and Dean pressed the gas a little harder in relief. They both needed sleep badly, the previous night spent in morbid anticipation of Sam coming down with the demon virus. A good night's rest and everything would look better. Maybe Sam would even forgive him.

The Impala pulled smoothly into the parking lot, and Dean jumped out to get a key. Three minutes later, he and Sam were standing inside a dilapidated but clean room.

Dean tossed his gear on the closest bed, then slid his eyes over to Sam. "You want first shower?"

Sam nodded silently and disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean breathed out, and sank down on the edge of the bed. Sam had promised he'd stick around. But forgive him? Dean wasn't sure about the when or if of that one. So much for relieving the knot that had tied up his gut for the last several months.

It took him a few minutes to realize the water wasn't going on in the bathroom.

Frowning, Dean stood. "Sam?" No answer. He ventured over to the bathroom door and rapped on it with two knuckles. "Sammy?"

The silence was gnawing.

Dean tried the knob, found it unlocked, and swung the door in.

Sam had taken his shirt and shoes off, but then had seemingly run out of steam, sitting slumped on the closed toilet seat with his back to the door. The room wasn't warm, and fine tremors ran through his back unnoticed. Nor did he react to Dean's arrival.

"Sam? You all right, man?"

The answer, for being a long time coming, was barely a whisper. "You think that's why Dad didn't want me to go to school? Because he knew what I might become and he wanted to keep an eye on me and stop me?"

He wasn't mad, Dean suddenly realized with chagrin, at least, not anymore. Sam was _scared_. The king of show-no-fear, and the world's leading expert on Sam Winchester, had gotten it wrong.

Dean closed his eyes. And each time he'd thought he couldn't feel any lower…

He took a breath and crowded into the small room, sitting on the edge of the tub so he could see his brother's face in profile. "No. He didn't want you to go because he was worried _for_ you, Sam, not _about_ you."

Sam shook his head with a tiny, grim smile. "How do you know, Dean, huh? You didn't even know…"

That John had even considered the idea of killing him? Yeah, that one the man had managed to keep all to himself. Still, Dean could answer honestly, "I'd know, Sam. He talked some, the years you were gone. He loved you, and he wanted to keep you safe. You just called his bluff leaving like that, dude."

Sam nodded, downcast, unconvinced.

Dean fidgeted, studied the pattern of cracks in the grey shower tile, and chewed his lip. "You want some Thai for dinner?"

Sam's body jolted with a single, silent laugh, then he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Out here?"

"Dude, you know me, I can always find food." Especially one of Sam's favorites.

Sam hitched a shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Dean agreed, standing, relieved to be able to _do_ something. But he waited there until Sam also rose and gave him a tired, pointed look. Dean grinned back, and beat a retreat.

Thai in the middle of nowhere he could do. Convincing Sam—again—he wasn't a freak, or a time bomb that needed defusing, would take more work. But Dean could, would do it. He _would_ save Sam.

Dean woke up alone in the room the next morning.

And when Sam died months later, Dean never even had a chance to ask if he'd ended up using those stupid powers or not.

00000

He'd guessed, really, when he'd seen all the blood on the bed and searched out his final memories.

He'd seen it in Dean's evasion of what had happened. In Bobby's disbelieving look when they'd arrived at his door. In Jake's shock when he saw him, his _I cut clean through your spinal cord… You can't be alive_.

But he'd _known_ when Dean had walked in that door and his brother had looked at him like that and embraced him.

Sam had learned denial from the master, however.

_One year, _Dean's voice chased around his brain. _I got one year._

Sam liked to think, when he _could_ finally think about it, that he'd shot Jake over and over without a flinch because he knew the soldier had effectively killed him and Dean both.

_I don't care what it takes, I'm gonna get you out of this_, Sam had promised Dean after, and Dean hadn't argued or scoffed, had just looked at him softly and nodded.

That had been then.

"Dude," Dean groaned, rolling over in bed and squinting at him. "Go to sleep."

"Soon," Sam answered distractedly, poring over the text. Sure, on the surface it was just a play, but few knew Daniel Webster's broken deal with the devil had basis in fact, and the clues were there, Sam knew they were…

"Light's bothering me," Dean complained.

Sam dug out a Maglite from the open weapons bag beside him without looking and snapped it on, then flipped the wall light off.

Dean made an aggrieved sound. "Not what I meant, Sam."

"Go to sleep, Dean," he parroted, fingers moving along a line.

He could see Dean sit up out of the corner of his eye, grunting. "Look, just…I got three hundred…"

"Fifty-nine," Sam filled in, paying more attention now even as his lips formed the words.

"Three-hundred fifty-nine days left. You don't have to—"

Sam snapped his head up. "Yes, Dean. I do."

Dean stared at him a moment, then curled forward over his knees, a resigned lump on the bed. "Sammy…"

He shook his head and went back to reading. Mostly.

The room was silent. But Dean hadn't lain back down.

Sam finally sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Just…let me do this, okay?"

"It's a done deal, Sam, you can't—"

"Right, Dean, because how many times do things turn out as we planned?"

He saw Dean start at that. Could practically sense him processing it.

They stared at each other wearily through darkness, picturing eyes and expressions they couldn't see.

But he heard the smile in Dean's voice when he spoke, and imagined it looked like the one he'd worn outside Fossil Butte Cemetery. "So go to sleep already then, bro. It'll be okay."

And that…that he could accept.

A minute later, Sam was curled up in bed, listening to the soft sound of Dean sleeping.

The same way he was a year and a half—three hundred sixty-five days _full_ of plans, and four long months without…and then a little divine intervention—later.

**The End**


End file.
